tiffany twisted

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

And what opportunities would a girl like you want with a girl like me?

Bexley’s eyes turn tempestuous, that’s the only word for it. A hundred different waves in that network of nerves behind her gaze, something turbulent and uncontainable, her gaze flashing dark in only the soft glow of the moonlight - all at once she is a wild girl again, that creature of her childhood, so selfish and obsessive. The night is gentle and warm around them, spreading so many gauzy shadows. Bexley falls into it full-force. 

Something hums in her ear, Calligo or a bird or the gentle murmuring of a bee, she couldn’t care less. Everything dims. She’s transported back to the days of her youth, back to Greer-Briar, to the time in which she had everything she wanted, because this feels like it again, what Florentine is giving her, what Bexley, the lustful, hedonistic sun-thing that she is, has been wanting for so long. Her body returns to its liquid and warmth, pooling in satisfaction. 

The golden girl turns to face her companion, fully this time, chest and legs twisting, and meets her gaze with a disastrous intensity. Her nostrils flare slightly as she inhales. It’s a shuddering breath, almost overwhelmed. The humor has gone from her face, replaced by something laviscious, incandescent. Whatever opportunities you’re not afraid to chase, she answers after that bated breath, voice dropping so low it’s almost gravelly - and a blush comes near to coloring her cheeks, but against all instinct she doesn’t look away, those arcane eyes stubbornly attached to each delicate line of Florentine’s face.

Of all things to happen next, Bexley would never expect a bow, especially not complete with the angelic flourishing of those gilded-gold wings - but it sparks a genuinely happy, almost sheepish smile that flickers on and off her face like the stuttering glow of a firefly. So it’s your time of day right now, yeah? For the first time her gaze drops from Flora’s, and she notices the dagger that hangs around the Dusk girl’s neck. Curiosity overtakes her, yet she forces down her immediate question, trying to decide which of a thousand to ask first. 

On a whim, she raises her head, takes a minuscule step forward - although there isn’t much space to be closed between them anyway - and brushes her muzzle, just barely,  against one of the many flowers studded in Florentine’s feral hair, the scent of lavender filling her lungs. Do you put these in yourself? Or do they grow here? Like a fairy’s?

@Florentine <3

love, space